Core
by Meepinstein
Summary: Everyone has a inner self, and sometimes it takes another to come to terms with it. Contains OC, rated for safety.
1. Prologue

Good morning to the peoples who have decided to read this thingiedoodle. I do appreciate your time. Any translation notes will always be presented at then end of an entry along with anything else that needs mentioning. Read on, and reviews are appreciated.

**I own nothing you recognize.**

* * *

"It's a letter. From the label company." There was a quick but solid pause. "Basically, they're calling us useless and want to drop our name so they can focus on, you know, _those people._" Moray Roy spat the last two words out with considerable disdain through his Scottish accent. He pushed a hand through his messy hair and exhaled loudly.

"And? What do we do about it?" the lead guitarist, a blond man by the name of Brendan Caulfield, spoke up. He didn't sound or look the least bit concerned.

"I don't fucking now. Sabotage them?"

"Wouldn't it just be easier to get a new label?" A third voice joined the mix. Chad Clement, the bassist.

"Like those exist anymore," Victor Wilkins scoffed, passing a playing card to the drummer, a Danish girl named Adeline Rasmussen. She stared blankly at Moray through teal bangs. "We can't pay rent, so we have to do something."

"I realize," Moray bit back, tossing the letter away from him. Its paper construction prevented it from going very far. Adeline took it and proceeded to rip it to precisely measured shreds. "We'll just, I don't know, send her in and hope she gets picked to go backstage."

"Then what?" Chad asked, genuinely intrigued.

"She'll break their stuff."

"You think she's got the balls? She has the demeanor of the lamb most of the time!"

"Listen to me" - Moray grabbed Adeline by the shoulders - "Do you and Silly Cat want a place to live? Yeah? Then you gotta do this! Punch me!" The Dane took on a look of determination and punched him in the chest. Moray pinched the bridge of his nose at her failure.

"Hey, Addy, those other Nords are going to call you a potato-mouth," Victor prodded. "Doesn't that piss you off?"

"Nej," she answered. Her voice had a spacey tone to it. "It...makes me...sad? Ja, that." Her native accent was nearly nonexistent in her English.

"Does it piss you off when people make you sad?"

"It makes me sad that people make me sad because it means I am a welcome mat."

"Doormat."

"Ja, that. And strangers are scary. Especially strange strangers."

Moray sighed in frustration. "Too bad. Maybe they'll be charmed by the idea of corrupting your innocence."


	2. Chapter 1

The next chapter and such.

**I own nothing you recognize.**

* * *

_Ah nej ah nej ah nej ah nej ah nej!_

By the will of the universe, it had happened. She was one of four girls that had been brought in at one time to meet the band. She looked infinitely out of place compared to the other females – she'd simply pulled on a white tank top and some gray shorts under a houndstooth hoodie and thrown her hair up in a topknot. Maybe they'd picked her to poke fun at her.

Adeline pressed the tips of her index fingers together repeatedly, directing her gaze at her hightops and biting her lip nervously. She honestly had no idea what to do with herself and it was forcing a bubble of panic into her chest.

"Are, um, you going to sit down, or what?" The question was followed by girlish giggles. She jumped and looked up, noticing that they'd been invited to sit down on the extensive black leather couch. The other girls had squeezed themselves in among the band, trying to make themselves seem as sexy as possible – Adeline couldn't help but think that they were awfully desperate and she should be the one laughing at them, if she only possessed the guts to say something witty.

"'M sorry," she murmured, briefly hiding her face in her hands as she blushed at her social blunder. Maybe she'd somehow pull off being cute by being a total unintentional dork, and maybe one of them would succumb to the charm of shy girls.

"Why don't yeh have a drink to loosen up?" She'd been in the process of positioning herself on the very edge of a cushion – it was the only spot left, sadly – when hands grabbed her hips and guided her into a lap. She squirmed initially against the touch, accidentally grinding herself against him. "Whoa there." The statement was followed by a chuckle and the smell of alcohol invaded her personal atmosphere. "What can I getcha?"

"Kaffe! I want ka...coffee," she mumbled quickly, biting her lip. _Real smooth, _she mentally berated herself. _Be a Dane and get made fun of._ "Um, please and thank you and..."

"Kahlua?"

"N-no. Coffee. Please and thank you..." This socializing thing was hard work.

"Dat's the wrong kind of drink, but if dat's what the lady wants..."

One of them emitted a string of excited Norwegian. Her response was to stare for a few split seconds and shake her head. She could understand him, but once she replied she'd create a communication barrier and be the butt of the Scandinavian joke. She wasn't going to let that happen and have it ruin her night.

"I like yer tattoo. Why does such a sweet girl have it?"

Adeline realized he was running his hands over her thigh piece. It was her band's logo: a brown skinny, scruffy dog snarling and flipping the bird. Of course he would have no idea what it was. Hardly anyone outside Mad Dog Strategy's dwindling fanbase did.

"Oh, um. I don't know. Why not?" _Be inconspicuous! Be cute! _But she couldn't help but grimace in embarrassment. Any question about that tattoo usually caused her to feel awkward.

"What's yer name?"

"Adeline." A set of hands placed a cup of black coffee into hers. It was cold and smelt burnt. She sipped at it anyway, trying to be nice.

"Anything else yeh want, Adeline?" the drunken voice purred. The gust of his breath on the shell of her ear sent shivers down her spine and caused an involuntary gasp. He chuckled again. "Is that a yes?"

"N...No!" She attempted to wriggle out of the arms wrapped around her waist, sloshing half of the mug's contents down her front and onto the girl sitting next to them. _Lort!_

"Hey!" the girl half-screeched as Adeline shot up. She pushed the tips of her fingers together and looked at the girl with blue eyes as wide as saucers. "Look what you did! Do you have any idea how expensive this dress is?"

"Jeg beklager," Adeline squeaked. Everything was getting out of hand and she'd never accomplish anything if it continued at this rate. On top of that, she was inches away from spilling buckets of apologies and making a silly fool of herself.

"What is that, Spanish or something?" the girl sneered. "You little shit." The stranger's jingling hand smacked Adeline's cheek. _Ouchies! That...that's a little harsh. Do I deserve that? _A little knot of anger was fighting with her low self esteem, but it was her off-color thought pattern that won out. _Maybe...maybe I'd be mad if someone did that. It'd be a waste of coffee, no matter how terrible it was. And it's not like it was a pretty dress in the first place...Do I look that terrible?_

"Hey, hey, hey, hey." The man whom she'd been sitting on stood between them, effectively tearing Adeline away from her inner monologue. "Cut it out. You, c'mere." He led her away from the couch. "Now, why don't I take yeh back to my place and we'll get yeh some dry clothes, eh?" He dusted off her shoulders as if it would somehow help the situation. She pursed her lips and creased her brows, displeased with the contact.

Adeline looked up at his face for the first time. He somehow managed to make dreadlocks and a combover coexist. "Oh, um...ok."

"Thatta girl."

* * *

Ah nej - Oh no

Kaffe - coffee

Lort - shit

Jeg beklager - I'm sorry


	3. Chapter 2

Things and stuff and jazz.

**I own nothing you recognize.**

* * *

"Hey, hey, you ams Danish, rights?" Adeline stared up at the brunette man that had addressed her and nodded. "Can you says that thingie?"

She turned her head to one side, wide-eyed with curiosity. The fact that he was walking side by side with her ahead of the rest made him less intimidating and easier to talk to. Besides, he seemed like he was the least scary stranger. "What thingie?"

"The thingie abouts pudding."

"Rødgrød med fløde?"

"Yeah! How does you dos thats?"

"...I don't know. I don't think about how, I just say it."

"No, reallys."

"Like...you open your throat...and move your tongue...like ahhh."

"I bet that meansch you're good at other thingsch, huh?" Adeline turned her attention to another brown haired man. It took a few seconds for her to realize what he was implying.

"That's dirty," she murmured, looking away and blushing.

"Just ignore them, c'mon." The redhead that had brought her here led her into the depths of the building to an impressive bedroom. She felt like she clashed with the décor. "Do yeh wanna shower?"

"Oh, um, sure."

She walked to the adjoining bathroom and locked herself in. It was huge and surprisingly clean. She assumed that it had specifically been done for the possibility of bringing home females and not scaring them off. But then again, the group had such a large standing that a messy bathroom probably wouldn't throw a fan. Most likely said fan would be no cleaner than said messy bathroom, wink wink.

Taking off her clothes, she ran the shower and pulled her cell phone from the pocket of her shorts. It had surprisingly survived the spillage. She then proceeded to dial Moray's number.

"_Hello?"_

"Hello."

"_Addy? Where are you? You were supposed to be home an hour ago!"_

"Um...I'm in their house."

"_What?"_

"I...got picked up or something...and I got taken to their house. Is...is that...good?"

"_Fuck yeah, that's good. Remember what we discussed? Break anything you can get your hands on."_ He ended the call without saying good bye, leaving her staring at the bathroom wall with an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She wondered if she had the guts to do such an act unprovoked and furthermore, to the property of such scary, intimidating beings.

xxx

Adeline emerged from the bathroom wrapped in one of the blood red towels, wet bangs slowly curling into a teenboy flip. The man was lounging on the bed watching a television that took up the entire wall and made her eyes hurt. He was half naked and wearing only pants, and she still had no idea who he was.

"Um," Adeline spoke up. _How the dick am I supposed to ask what his name is?_

"I'll send yer clothes teh be washed," he replied quickly, rolling over to face her.

"No, um. This is stupid but," she paused, looking away and biting her lip in embarrassment. She should have researched the band before hand. "What...what do I call you?"

"...Yeh serious?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Ja."

"Well, I guess I never technically introduced mehself. I'm Pickles."

"For real-like?" _The dick kind of a name is that? Is it...like...a penis joke?_

"Yeah."

"That's...how...what..." Her embarrassment had dissolved into blatant curiosity. A scary stranger wasn't so scary with a name like Pickles. "That's not a sexy name, so what to ladies call you during sex?"

"Why don't yeh find out fer yehself?" He grabbed her wrist and pulled her onto the bed. She landed ungracefully on top of him and scrambled to keep her towel in place. "By teh way, was Murderface right?"

"What?"

"About yeh being good at...certain things."

"Oh, um, I don't know," Adeline stuttered, sitting up on his waist and speaking through her hands. Perhaps he wasn't scary, but he certainly was a pervert. Maybe she was too, but she preferred to keep it under her hat. "I haven't done that - "

Pickles cut her off, a glint of excitement in his eyes. "Yer a virgin?"

"N...No..." She bit her lip and blushed, a montage of her escapades running through her head. "It's just...been a while..."

Her admittance only deepened his interest. "It's always teh quiet ones. Besides, I always thought the Danish were kinda messed up. Are yeh a kinky girl?"

"Um..." She watched him fish around in the bedside table. His expression fell suddenly.

"I'll be right back. Stay here, ok?" He rolled them over and crushed their lips together briefly before exiting the room, leaving her dazed and confused and wondering if the time was right to enact some destruction.

* * *

Rødgrød med fløde - red pudding with cream


	4. Chapter 3

I started school this week and stuff. It's so not jazzy.

**I own nothing you recognize.**

* * *

Pickles found the rest of the band and a handful of females in the company of a lot of alcohol. He wondered absently if someone would have drowned in the hot tub by morning. He knew full well that that much alcohol would – had once, for him – cause some stupid decisions.

"I thought you were, uh, gonna fuck that girl with the blue, uh, hair." Nathan's statement was followed by an annoyed scoff. The girl that had had coffee split on her was on the couch in her underwear, attempting to make sure that all of Nathan's attention was on her. Maybe it would be her. She was quite attractive, but she seemed dumb, even by comparison to everyone else.

"I was. 'M outta rubbers. Can I borrow one?"

"You sure she's gonna, uh, do it?" It _was _a good point.

"Fuckin' Dutch," Skwisgaar muttered under his breath.

"I don't know." He'd have to hope she was one of those – a quiet girl who was anything but in bed. That kind of girl was exciting. There was no way you could tell what you were in for until it was happening.

"Juscht get her drunk," Murderface suggested. "That'sch what I would do."

"But Danes drink the mosts in the world," Toki piped up. "Sos I don't thinks it would be easy."

"Potato-mouth," Skiwsgaar continued to himself.

"Whatever. Can I borrow one or not?"

"Sure." One was thrown across the room to him. He set off back to his room, but returned a few moments later.

"Aaand she's gone."

xxx

The universe was still working in her favor. Adeline had found herself in a room that held several varieties of instruments, miraculously unguarded. She swallowed hard and reached into the back pocket of her coffee stained shorts for a pocketknife.

"Ah nej," Adeline squeaked out as she cut the straps on a drum case and poked her knife through the skin. Each percussion piece that she desecrated got its own mantra of 'oh no's. _Maybe I should have written a will before I went...? Oh dear, who's going to feed Sandwich if I die? What if he dies of a broken heart 'cuz he misses his mommy?_

She then moved on to the strings, silencing the gnawing voice in her head. It wasn't contributing anything useful. Each pop of the latches made her flinch. The dimpled surfaces of the cases felt like sandpaper. The neck of the instrument burned in her hands. "Ok, all you have to do...is, like...crack it or something." She told herself as she picked up the guitar with shaky hands. "Just...like..." The end of it connected with the stone floor with just enough force to scratch the paint. "For satan," she cursed under her breath before arcing the thing high in the air and bringing it down with a mighty shatter. A race of adrenaline flowed through her. It would be fun – until they found out and hung her from the ceiling by her toes. Five more guitars suffered the same fate before the door busted open. "Lort!" So much as thinking you'd be caught always seemed to make such a situation a self-fulfilling prophecy.

"The fuck are you doing?"

"Um." Adeline stared down at the pile of shambled instruments at her feet. Suddenly words spewed from her mouth. "The...the record labelwantstodropusbecauseyou 'remakingusawasteoftimeandmon eyandifthathappenswe'llbebrokeIguesswecouldjustgi veupandgofindjobsbutinthisec onomythatcouldtakemonthsandt henwecan'tpayourrentandthenmeandSandw ichwouldn'thaveanywheretoliveandwe'dbehomelessandsoMoraysentmeh eretowreckyourstuffand-and!" She stuttered off, crying.

"You realize, uh, that we can just, um, buy more stuff?" A tall man with black hair pointed out. "Um, please...please stop crying." His imposing stature alone kind of made her want to cry.

"Get a job!" That pervy brunette man was yelling at her with no scrap of sympathy. She wondered if she could get away with hitting him. This was the second stupid thing – although this one was probably right – that he'd said, after all.

"Fuckin' Dutch." Oh _hell _no. This man was freaking Swede, and he was making fun of her. Sooo not cool.

"I'm Danish!" Adeline yelled back, determined to keep some of her dignity, even if she'd just broke down full force crying in front of these scary (mostly) strangers.

"Yous Dutch!"

"Fuck dig!" she snapped. Any hope of supporting the charm of shy girls was gone. She was starting to show her bad side.

"Fuck you!"

She sighed heavily, creating a stop to the pointless argument, before she regained some of her composure. "Moray will be pissed if I don't accomplish something." It was the truth, after all. Breaking their stuff had proven to be futile and had only served to anger them.

"Okay, um, I'm sure that we can...work something out...somehow." The black haired man made a face, perhaps thinking the same thing. No plea she could make would create any difference.

* * *

For satan - goddammit

Fuck dig - fuck you


	5. Chapter 4

And yeah.

**I own nothing you recognize.**

* * *

The angry Scotsman glared across the table at the enemy band as Adeline cowered in the chair next to him. She wondered if the others were as aware as she was of the tension in the room. The man that had introduced himself as Ofdensen observed the two parties for a few seconds before he spoke. "Now, Mr. Ray, what is your complaint against my clients?"

"They're putting us out of business," he huffed quickly. "Making us broke. The label doesn't want to spend the money to market us."

"What do you ecshpect usch to do about it?" Murderface growled back.

Moray squinted at him. "The fuck's wrong with your face?"

"Moray, please don't do that," Adeline had started to say, but it would be useless. She stared at the floor and kicked her feet instead.

"What are you schaying about my fasch? That I'm ugly, you scheep-fucker?"

"I'm surprised that you know enough to make that slur." A dangerous lilt was creeping into his voice. Moray became sly when he became mad. He made anger almost eloquent.

"You're schaying I'm schtupid too? You schuck schooo much."

"...You're spitting everywhere." Moray brushed at his shoulder pointedly. "It's...disgusting. Reminds me of you."

Ofdensen broke it before it could escalate anymore. "Mr. Ray, I'm afraid that your claim has no legal standing. What is happening here is simply business. Some win, some lose; you're just losing."

"Ouch! Man, why you gotta be like that?" He shrugged. "Well, I guess poor...sweet...little...Adeline will have to go back to stripping."

Adeline looked up slowly, passing through several shades of white. Her mouth opened several times, but no sound came out. _You really are a sheep-fucker,_ she thought, but her embarrassment and shock outweighed any explosive anger that would have normally came right to the surface.

"Wait – _you_ were a _stripper_?" Pickles asked in bewilderment. "_You_?"

"Um...no...?" she denied, dazed at the turn in conversation. It was on her list of past occupations, but it wasn't something she bragged about, no matter how much money she ever earned.

"Yeah, man!" Moray chuckled. "Shocker, isn't it? She started as a server, but those perverts wanted to see her naked. Paid her buckets."

"The fuck, man?" Adeline shot to her feet. The wave of anger had finally burst through. "Why would you just go telling people that?" She struggled to instill some self control; the last thing she wanted to do was make an ass of herself and end up beating his face in, no matter how much he deserved it at this point.

Moray leaned forward on the table, ignoring her outburst. "Do you...wanna watch?"

"Pis af!" Adeline barked, crossing her arms and turning her gaze away from the table. "I'm not doing that!" More Danish expletives followed.

"That's too bad, cuz I'm leaving you here." Her blood iced over. Panic settled in.

"Det er fuldstændigt røvsygt!"

"You have a fucking dirty mouth, Miss Copenhagen," Moray pointed out, sounding bored. "Later." With no further contribution, he up and left.

"Uh...now what?" Nathan asked, filling the awkward silence that was left over.

"'M going home," Adeline mumbled. She felt utterly defeated. She'd yelled, screamed, and cried and nothing good had come of it. The band became intimidating again and she felt sorry for herself.

"How?" Ofdensen asked. They were now indirectly responsible for anything that would happen to her until she got there, opening the door for a lot legal issues, although with all the carefully written paperwork they'd never hear of any of them.

"I...I don't know. I'll fuckin' walk there or something."

"Do you have any idea where you are?" he continued.

"...Nope."

"So you see how that would pose some problems."

"I'm not...your liability." Her voice was becoming increasingly monotone and hesitant.

"Yes you are."

"...Fine. I won't go home... I don't...really want to go home...anyway... We live together...but I miss my cat."

"Well, you have to go home. I'll arrange for you to be taken home in the morning."

* * *

Pis af - piss off

Det er fuldstændigt røvsygt - That's dead boring/lame (literally that's completely ass-sick)


	6. Chapter 5

Yeah. Things.

**I own nothing you recognize.**

* * *

"Hey, Picklesch, that girl you brought home isch wandering around in her underwear. She'sch not bad to look at, but sche's acting weird. We're in the rec room."

Adeline watched the man hang up the phone and return to playing a video game. She still had no idea who these people were, and she was clad in nothing but a borrowed shirt and boring panties. There was no point to be intimidated anymore – there was probably nothing else left for them to do or say to her that hadn't already been said, and even this one wasn't so scary by himself. "Hey mister, what's your name?" Words were flowing easily from her mouth and the embarrassment from being in her underwear had taken up all of that emotion that she had. She wasn't particularly concerned with saying something stupid anymore.

"William Murderface," he replied gruffly, before asking the question in turn.

"I'm Adeline Rasmussen."

"Gesundheit."

The Dane stared at him hollowly for a few moments. "Can I punch you?"

"The fuck'sch wrong with you? NO, you can't punch me!"

"Well, this turn of events made me want to...like...completely destroy something." She kicked her feet as she sat at the opposite end of the couch.

"...I thought you didn't schay much."

"How else am I supposed to release my energy if I can't destroy things or get laid?" It was the honest truth.

"...I can get you laid, easchy...Hey, the fuck're you doing?"

"You...have a sleeping stomach. Sleepy, sleepy."

"Get off me! That'sch weird!" He shoved her with more force than he intended and she landed on the floor. She gazed up at him with an absent expression.

"Hey," Pickles sauntered in, holding the girl's garb in her arms. "Yerr clothes er done."

"Tak." Adeline took them and put on her shorts. She then hurried off to the corner of the room to change her shirt. "No peeking!"

"What's teh difference?" Pickles asked, secretly annoyed that he had yet to see her fully naked. "We've already seen yer panties."

"I have an ugly stomach," she replied, unfazed by what had been pointed out. It wasn't something that she particularly enjoyed discussing.

"_You_ have an ugly shtomach?" Murderface interjected. "You called me fat!"

"Nooo." When she returned she was zipping up her hoodie. The coffee stains had miraculously came out of the cream and black houndstooth print. "I said you had a sleeping stomach. It's a compliment. You can't sleep on the stomach of a skinny man."

"Who schaid anyone wanted to schleep on my shtomach?"

Pickles broke in, "Are yeh ready to go? Toki insisted on us taking yeh back personally. He said he wanted to hear yeh say more things that weren't, you know, swears."

"Oh." It dawned on her that the other two Scandinavians had most like understood part of her outburst, perhaps even the choicest pieces. "I...do have a terrible vocabulary." The statement almost made her blush. Instead, she berated herself for saying those things. She'd shown her bad side to them, and a bad side was enough to change someone's entire outlook on a person. "I...I think I'd want to apologize anyway. And to you guys too...for causing this terrible mess with that silly Scotsman."

"It's definitely not the worse thing that we've been through. It's pretty small, actually. But, apology accepted. And judging by the funk you're in, I guess this ruins my chances for getting laid, eh?"

Her face contorted. Sex was a way to spend energy and release happy chemicals, and it was way more fun than regular old exercise. It was also the reason she was actually here and it felt oddly wrong to deny him what he'd expected.

But to just have sex with some dude? Unless she reverted back to her old habits of trying to solve her problems with the act – a method which had been far less complicated when she'd been attached to someone; she could just go ask him and it'd come with something special along with happy chemicals – it probably wouldn't happen, but she'd know where to go if she wanted it to.

"I suppose so," she shrugged.

"What about me?" Murderface spoke up. Adeline assumed he was trying to give a charming smile but it ended up being slightly creepy, even if the effort was cute.

"Um. Sorry, same deal."

"Dammit."

"I guess we should get going then," Pickles suggested, although there was a hint of disappointment to his voice.


	7. Chapter 6

This one may not go over well and such.

**I own nothing you recognize.**

* * *

"Mon vi kan plante det flag? Forrette den her sag? Mon I har tabt os bag en vogn fra USA," Adeline recited as the group walked up the stairs of her apartment building. "Mon vi bør telepatere? Hvem wil wi imponere? Mon I vil telefonere til nogen, der vil massakrere?"

"Gross!" Toki exclaimed, even going so far as to stick his tongue out.

"This is my room," she announced, fitting the key into the lock and opening the door. "Bye bye." She shut it softly behind her as she walked in.

They'd gotten halfway back down the hall when the sound of a scuffle started. Several things crashed to the ground, a cat yowled, a distinctly Scottish voice was yelling abuse to a Danish girl who was screaming right back.

"I've got a mind to slit your goddamn throat!" The explosive threat came from the female, her voice heavily laced with fury.

"You fucking cunt! I'm going to kill you! I'm going to count to ten, give me a reason why I shouldn't..."

"Uh...what're we supposed to, uh, do?" Nathan asked, truly bewildered as to how the situation had escalated so quickly.

"I think we have some sort of obligation ta do something," Pickles offered up. "As proper citizens or whatever."

"We can'ts lets her dies. We was going to eats pickled herring together!" Toki sounded more concerned about the herring than the possibility of her death.

"Ok...um..." Nathan gave the door a mighty kick upon discovering that it had been locked. It swung open with a loud crash, grinding glass into the carpet and causing the Scotsman to turn his head in their direction, a truly murderous look in his eyes.

Moray had pinned Adeline to the wall, holding her a few feet off the ground with a forearm to her throat. He was holding a knife below her navel. The risk of puncture kept the girl from trying to escape but she clung to his arm in an attempt to support her weight.

"You fucks," he murmured dangerously low. He poked at her abdomen with the tip of the knife, eliciting a squeak. "Get lost." Moray turned his attention back to her face, smiling cruelly as increased the pressure.

"Nej! Nej!" She felt herself fall to the floor suddenly shortly before a loud crash. The coffee table splinted under the weight. She hugged her stomach as she crouched low, then flinching as she was picked up bridal style and carried out. "Rør mig ikke!" She tugged her shirt down angrily as Toki attempted to examine her.

"I has to to see if yous hurts," he replied patiently.

"I...I'm fine," she countered, shoving her hands in his face in an attempt to regain her personal space. "Really."

"I don't believes yous." She continued to deny it firmly. "There are bloods on you's shirt."

"It's from my cheek." Adeline pointed to a small laceration below her eye.

"Why's there so much, thens? It soakings through, so I has to see."

A sad expression crossed her face. "Not...not here, ok? And no one else."

"Okays."

"C'mon." She was pulled roughly along by Nathan, who was also carrying a confused and angry tuxedo cat on his shoulder like a baby.

"Where're we going?" she asked, trying to cover the blood spot with her hand while remaining inconspicuous. She was thankful he'd grabbed the cat – Moray would be truly unpredictable when he woke up, and little Sandwich probably wouldn't have any special untouchable status.

"We can't...uh...just leave you here. Toki would be...uh, upset if we were such...jerks."

"Really?" she asked, looking up at the Norwegian.

"Yeah," he answered back with a smile.

* * *

Mon vi kan plante det flag? Forrette den her sag? Mon I har tabt os bag en vogn fra USA. Mon vi bør telepatere? Hvem wil wi imponere? Mon I vil telefonere til nogen, der vil massakrere - Can we plant this flag? Execute this case? Maybe you have lost us behind a wagon from USA. Should we telepatize? Who do we want to impress? Will you call someone who will massacrate? (lyrics from "Igen og Igen" by the Danish band Nephew)

Rør mig ikke - Don't touch me


	8. Chapter 7

Short. Boring. Whatever, man. It's some stuff.

**I own nothing you recognize.**

* * *

Adeline stared at the ceiling as a Klokateer attended to her belly wound. Her face was flushed with embarrassment and her mouth was pulled into a thin, white line. Toki had been forced to hold her down on the table by her shoulders. She could feel his eyes burning as he looked at the long shiny scar across her lower belly.

"Don't...don't ask about it, ok?" she murmured, reaching up and covering his eyes. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Okays," he relented, although the childlike curiosity still remained in his voice. It was the sort of tone of a kid that had been caught staring at a person missing a limb. "I won'ts."

"Promise?" she continued, staring up at him with wide blue eyes and smudgy eyeliner. She parted her fingers so that they could make eye contact.

"Ja," he answered, giggling slightly. He reminded her of a kid on the playground and she wondered if he really was as innocent as such. His icon status made her doubt it, but it certainly was charming and refreshing. He wasn't a scary guy.

"Kay, so you be quiet. Like, super shushes."

"Does you wants lollipop?" Toki asked, noticing that she'd sat patiently through some stitches. "I ams not supposed to have thems, but since you shared secret, I ams sharings one." He produced three of them from his pocket. Each one was a different flavor. She picked out a black cherry one and popped it in her mouth as she hopped off the table. "Does you want to hangs outs?"

"And?"

"I don't knows. Does you wants to play game?"

"What kind of game?"

"DDR?"

"I'm...I'm not coordinated." She rubbed an arm absently.

"What do you play in band?"

"I poke the drums and bang the keytar."

"Thens you must be co...co-ord-inator."

"Um. Just...Just one round, ok?"

"Hey, Addy?"

"Ja?"

"Will you be my friend?"

She stopped dead in her tracks. "You...you want to be my friend?"

"Of course!"

Maybe she still thought of herself as a socially inept weirdo because it sent a wave of something like relief washing over her. And if any of them hated her for wrecking their stuff, at least this one didn't. She clasped her hands over her mouth and shed a tear of joy. "I...I'm so happy."


	9. Chapter 8

Boom.

**I own nothing you recognize.**

* * *

Adeline sat across the table from the CFO, her hands in her lap and her gaze directed downward. The joy she'd experienced earlier from making a friend had dissolved, probably because she'd most likely never see him again.

"It's highly inappropriate for you to stay here, and having your affairs mixed up with that of the band can only spell disaster," Ofdensen explained monotonously. "Not to be rude, but it might be a different story if you were making a contribution – having a position on staff. But we are currently are not looking for any replacements."

"I understand, sir." The statement hung hollowly in the air as she stood.

"Would you like us to call you if there is an opening?" It was a gesture of niceness and not a serious offer. She replied anyway.

"No thank you, sir."

"There is another matter. The equipment you destroyed will have to be reimbursed." He slid a slip of paper across the table with a number neatly written on it. "You will have to make monthly payments. You can mail them to the address on the back." There was no way she could afford it.

She paused in the hallway upon exiting the imposing room, leaning dejectedly against the wall. It was an inevitable fate – she'd destroyed equipment and putting her up for room and board without anything in return would detract from their wealth, even if it would be a small dent.

"Hei." The Norwegian had literally skipped up to her, initially ignorant of her funk. She turned sharply away and began walking away. "What's wrong? Where ams you going?"

"Elsewhere."

"Does you wants to play in my room?"

"Can't."

"Why nots?"

"I can't stay here, so I'm leaving. Where's Sandwich?"

"Nat'ens has him. In the main room. What ams you goings to do thens?"

"I don't know." She shoved open the door and removed the cat from the lead singer's lap. "I'll just start stripping again so I can pay for the crap I broke."

"Yeh can be my stripper anytime," Pickles slurred drunkenly from the hot tub, raising a drink in her direction. "In fact, why don't yeh do that right not?"

"Buts _why_ can't you stays?" Toki whined.

"I'm not making a contribution to this establishment," she answered. It was met with an expression of confusion. "I'm not doing anything for you people."

"Whys don't you works for us to pays it off?"

"Why pay me for something those dudes you got running around can do for free? Besides, I have no job skills."

"You can do what Pickle say, be band personal stripper."

"But you guys would be paying me and then I'd be paying you back and we'd never get anywhere."

"But I don't wants you to leave!" The outburst was complete with a stomp of one foot.

"What am I supposed to do about it? I don't know what I'm going to do until I find a new apartment and get a job."

"Stay here?"

"Look, dude, I'm not the one making the decision." Adeline bounced the cat around on her shoulder as if he were a baby as they walked along the hall.

"It's Charlie's decision, right?"

"Yeah." She produced a bright orange marker from the depths of her pockets and scrawled on his arm. "This is my number, kay? Maybe we can hang out sometime."


	10. Chapter 9

Fwoop.

**I own nothing you recognize.**

* * *

Adeline shut the door behind her dejectedly. Although the coffee table was missing and the shattered cabinet full of miscellany had its front smashed in, the place had been cleaned. The cat jumped down from her shoulder and carried himself off into the kitchen.

"The hell happened here?" Brendan's voice held no more interest than it did during the conversation that had started this mess.

"Moray was being a fucking asshole," she answered sharply, pulling her shirt up to show the small square bandage on her belly. There was a small copper stain on it from the time she'd spent hopping around during the round of DDR.

"No surprise there. So, I take it didn't go well?"

"Nope. I broke their stuff and now I have to pay them back." She handed him the slip of paper. He let out a low whistle.

"How are you going to manage this?" He knew the answer. With half a high school education – maybe more by the standards in this country – and no real talents other than musical ones, and those obviously weren't going to get her anywhere, she'd fall back to her old habits. Besides, it _did_ make some damn good money.

"Pray for the best is all I really can do," Adeline admitted, flicking a mini lighter to ignite the end of a black cherry cigarette. The sweet smell sparked a little longing for her new friend. "And I guess I should move somewhere Moray won't find me, 'cuz I don't know what he'll do next."

"Why don't you get yourself some big, muscly boyfriend to keep you safe?" Brendan suggested as they both watched the snowy screen of the no longer functioning television. Finally an excuse to get an upgrade for the stupid thing.

"How would I pay the bills? Usually boyfriends get all uppity if you take your clothes off for an audience. So he wouldn't want me doing it."

"Oh. Yeah. I guess." There was a pause. "What were they like?"

Adeline wrinkled her nose and puffed out a stream of smoke. "Fucking...overrated is what they are."

"You don't sound sure."

"I...I guess...I made a friend of one of them...or something."

"No crushes?"

"Nope." She could truthfully admit that they seemed creepy, at least from what she'd witnessed.

"See, 'cuz I think that's what you've gotta do, Addy. Get a rich boy. Live off him. Be a housewife or something."

"I'd fucking...hate that. I'd rather be a stripper."

"So, you're going to try to get back your job at Alimony Jack's?"

"What else am I supposed to do?"

"Dude, I told you, be a trophy wife! Solve all your problems right there."

Adeline squinted at him. "Sooo not doing that."

"Fine." Brendan played offended. "Who do you keep texting?"

"The dude I made friends with."

He snatched the cell phone away and frowned at the texts. They were mostly comprised of Norse, the conversation flowing much easier without being face to face and without her accent getting in the way. "Dude, why...?"

"Why not?" She stubbed out her cigarette and took her phone back.

"Why don't you be this dude's girlfriend?"

"Will you cut it out? Girlfriends tear bands apart and shit."

"But you're totally and completely awesome, you're just too hard on yourself."

"It's just...simpler?...to be a stripper. So fuck this shit, I'm going to be a stripper."

"If you insist."


End file.
